


if they don't win it's a shame

by elegantstupidity



Series: put me in coach [3]
Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-03 19:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 15,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10973937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elegantstupidity/pseuds/elegantstupidity
Summary: One shots written for the#PickUpPitch campaignbeing run byPitch Street TeamIf you'd like me to write a one shot for you, check outthis post!





	1. for @savepitchonfox: how difficult things are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @savepitchonfox asked for: Ginny suffers from Postpartum depression after having Mike's child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chronology: [maybe, hopefully, against all odds](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/20905271) | how difficult things are | [allow me the influence](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/20469673)
> 
> chapter tags: discussion of postpartum depression/anxiety, hurt/comfort, baby!fic, future!fic
> 
> chapter title: Amy Poehler quote, "I think I tortured myself a bit in that first year about what kind of mother I was. And could I do this thing well and also kind of, like, give birth to this new show? … There’s not enough, in my opinion, not enough working mothers who kind of talk about who they leaned on and how they got through that difficult time. There’s this thing where, you know, nobody likes to talk about _how difficult things are._ "

In retrospect, Mike should have realized something was off with Ginny when he kept finding her curled up in the nursery's rocking chair—pulled up right beside Ruby's crib—dead to the world. But she'd been having so much trouble sleeping lately, even though they were both constantly exhausted. Mike, though, simply figured any sleep was better than the none she'd been getting in bed. She'd toss and turn and eventually clamber out, "Just to check on Ruby," and wouldn't come back for hours, apparently watching the baby sleep.

It wasn't until he found his wife sitting at the foot of their bed, their cache of pregnancy and parenting books spread around her, deep in the throes of a panic attack, though, that Mike realized maybe this wasn't just par for the course.

This wasn't just baby blues the way Ginny'd told Ruby's pediatrician at their latest check up.

Ruby down for a nap, Mike gently began clearing a space on the bed so he could sit next to Ginny. The sight of the same, grim topic on every page had a burble of his own panic rising to the surface, but he pushed it down for another time. Instead, he held his hand out to her, palm up. She could take it or not; he'd long ago learned that sometimes Ginny needed physical reassurance during an attack and sometimes it made it worse.

Apparently, this was a time for reassurance.

"Sweetheart," he murmured as she gripped his hand, knuckles going white, "try and focus on your breathing."

She shook her head, eyes darting between the open pages around her. On every page, the same header glared up at them: _SIDS_. Mike barely resisted the urge to sweep every single book to the floor, hopefully breaking whatever trance they'd pulled Ginny into. He didn't want to startle her, though.

"C'mon, rookie," he tried to smile, tried to show her that everything was all right. Mike pulled her into his side and lay back on the mattress. "Let's just breathe, okay?"

He continued murmuring gentle encouragement, settling her hand on his chest so she could feel the rhythm.

Finally her breathing evened and the high-wire tension in her body leaked away. Ginny tucked her face into his neck and Mike was pretty sure the slight dampness on his skin were tears and not sweat. Automatically, his grip on her tightened, cradling her as close to his body as he could. She pressed against him, shuddering weakly.

"Do you know what brought this one on?"

She nodded and sniffled, but didn't answer. Mike waited her out, rubbing her back in soothing circles. There were times that Ginny didn't want to talk after an attack, preferring to forget it and move on. While he would've loved to know everything that passed through her head, couldn't know enough about this woman who'd agreed to spend her life with him, Mike had learned not to push and needle at times like those.

Finally, though, she whispered, "I can't do this."

"Do what?"

"Be a mom."

There was a joke on the tip of his tongue—"Little late for that, yeah?"—but Mike swallowed them whole. That wasn't what this was about, so he promised, "You're already a great mom."

"You have to say that," Ginny protested, though her arm curled tighter around him in gratitude. There was still so much anxiety in her next words, though. "What do I know about being a good mom? I'm just going to mess her up."

"You won't." Then he countered, "And what do I know about being a good dad? Odds are definitely on me to be the useless parent."

She didn't laugh, though Mike didn't expect her to. "It's different. You're a man. People expect you to make mistakes. I'm supposed to have this maternal instinct kick in, but I don't think it has. I think I'm broken."

Mike's heart constricted at the misery in Ginny's voice.

"You're not broken, Gin."

"I feel like I am."

Much as Mike loved Ginny and wanted to make all her problems disappear, this was above his pay grade and beyond his ability. So, he swallowed and asked, "Do you think it would help to talk this over with Dr. Barton?"

Ginny stilled. In the silence, Mike wondered if he should have built up to it more, if this might send her into another spiral, but then she admitted, "I don't know."

"That's okay," he assured her, kissing the top of her head. And it was. Far better than insisting she was fine, at least. "You can think about it. And until you decide, I'm always here. You know that, right?"

She nodded, pressing her own kiss to his throat. "I know."

"Good," he sighed. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

 

* * *

 

And even though Mike was proud of his wife every day—he'd never stop being blown away by her strength and determination—the day she admitted that maybe professional help wouldn't be the worst idea, he couldn't have been prouder. It wasn't often that the Ginny Baker (-Lawson, he kept trying to convince her) admitted to needing help.

When she came home from her first session with Dr. Barton, Ginny looked tired but less on edge than she'd been in weeks. She'd insisted Mike didn't need to accompany her, and when she caught sight of him pacing the kitchen, Ruby in his arms, she gave him a rueful little smile. That smile shifted to something brighter as she took in their daughter, coming over to take her out of Mike's arms.

That was when Mike knew for sure that she would make it. Even if this was just the first step on a long road, there was no way Ginny would let this beat her.

(Not, of course, that he'd ever had any doubts about that.)

So, he slung an arm around his wife's waist and looked down at the family he'd once given up hoping for, and started to accept that this love and pride swelling in his chest wasn't going anywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you didn't want anything particularly angsty, because while it definitely makes sense for Ginny to struggle with postpartum issues given what we know of her mental health, I really need these two to generally be happy! 
> 
> Thanks so much to @savepitchonfox for sending letters for the #PickUpPitch campaign! 
> 
> If you want me to write something for your own prompt, post a picture of your letter/postcard to Hulu/Netflix asking them to #PickUpPitch and tag me on [tumblr](http://www.megaphonemonday.tumblr.com)/[twitter](https://twitter.com/megaphonemonday)


	2. for @fixatedbytv: baby, i believe this is real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @fixatedbytv asked for anything Bawson related, and I'd been thinking about this for a few days, so I was glad to have a reason to write this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: bad humming, Ginny's second season
> 
> chapter title: "Teenage Dream" by Katy Perry

Listen. Mike is only humming Katy Perry because Ginny’s been on a kick lately and she got the song stuck in his head, and he only knows it's "Teenage Dream" because she told him last week when he noticed it was something new.

He really doesn’t think anything of it until Ginny halts in her tracks as she’s passing his cubby. She stares at him, brow furrowed and color high. It’s not until Mike raises an eyebrow, a silent _Can I help you_?, that she shakes herself out of it and hurries away to her dressing room. She only emerges again just before they're set to take the field, and even then, avoids him at all costs. 

Honestly, that's entirely too intriguing to just let go.

It becomes something of an experiment. 

Mostly, his humming only gets a flicker of reaction: a smile, a snort, a sputter. Come to think of it, it’s mostly amusement he gets.

(Not that Ginny really has any room to judge anyone's humming ability.) 

But when he goes back to “Teenage Dream,” that’s when he starts getting results.

The first time he thinks to re-try the song itself, they're on the bus, heading up to another series in LA. Ginny, of course, is sitting next to him, already prepping for her next outing, though it's still four days away. For once, she doesn't have her giant red headphones on. It's the perfect opportunity.

So, Mike starts humming, flipping casually through his own heat maps, but mostly keeping all of his attention on Ginny as subtly as possible. 

She shakes her head a little at the first few notes—so sue him, he doesn't have perfect pitch—but doesn't look up from her tablet. It's not until he skips to the chorus that her head cocks to the side, clearly listening. When she stills, her finger hovering over the screen for a long moment, Mike starts to smirk. She cuts a side out of the corner of her eye, almost like she's paying as much attention to him as he is to her, and huffs at the smug look on his face. Still, it's not as if she can really help the dark pink flush spreading over her cheeks and the tips of her ears.

Which is when she pointedly digs her headphones out of her backpack and sets herself to ignoring him. 

Well, fine. 

It wasn't like a little setback was going to deter Mike. Not for long at least. 

In all honesty, he probably makes something of a nuisance of himself, trying to figure out what it is about him humming that can sometimes get Ginny to react the way she does. It's not easy to get Ginny to blush, and he would know. She doesn't bat an eye at some of the raunchier stories that get passed around the clubhouse, joining in on the ribbing with quick zingers of her own. Mostly, she remains unflappable on the mound, too. Now that she's well into her second season, she seems a little more sure of herself, less like she's just doing all she can to stay afloat. It's nice to see. 

Even if it just makes Mike all the more curious as to what it is about him humming Katy Perry that seems to get under her skin. 

(Not that Mike really has any room to judge that, not with all the hours he's logged listening to Ginny.)

So, after a solid week of humming incessantly, to the point where Blip went out and bought a bag of ear plugs and sold them to the rest of the team, it shouldn't be a surprise that Ginny finally cracks. It is, though, at least to Mike. If anyone is capable of sheer, pig-headed determination, it's Ginny Baker. 

Mike's humming, practically an automatic response to Ginny's proximity at this point, as they both sit through their post-game cold therapies, Mike in a tub and Ginny in a nearby chair, elbow swaddled in ice. 

"Lawson," she says, her head thudding against the wall. "You've gotta stop."

"Huh?"

"The humming. You have to stop."

"What? Why?" Honestly, he'd thought she kind of liked it.

"It's embarrassing," she whines.

"What's embarrassing about a grown man liking Katy Perry?"

"That's not—" Ginny cuts herself off, scrubbing her free hand over her face. "It's embarrassing for  _me_."

"Are you telling me I embarrass you, Baker?" he grins, leaning a chin on the hand propped on the edge of the tub.

Her eyes close like she's begging for patience. "When you hum  _that_ , you do."

At that point, the timer goes off, alerting both of them that Ginny's done with her ice and Mike still has ten minutes left. That's what he gets for being so old, she'd teased him at the beginning of the season. Ginny busies herself extricating her arm from the ice sling and putting it back in the freezer for whenever she needs it next. That done, she heads straight for the door, like if she gets out fast enough, Mike won't realize she's trying to escape.

Yeah right.

"What is it about the song?" he asks as she puts her hand on the door handle.

Ginny turns and squints at him, clearly trying to see if he's messing with her again. Mike does his best to project an image of innocence, though it's hard when he's mostly naked and shivering in a vat of ice water.

"Do you seriously not know?"

He shrugs. 

"When I walk out of this room, we're never speaking about this again, okay?" She waits for him to agree before sighing, looking reluctant but resigned. "It's just— The lyrics hit a little close to home, okay? Especially when it's coming from you."

Without giving him a chance to process that, she's out the door and gone.

For a long moment, he stares at the empty air where Ginny just stood. Then, his eyes slide over to his phone.

What the hell are in those lyrics?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I personally think the lyrics that most get to Ginny are: "Let you put your hands on me / in my skin tight jeans / be your teenage dream tonight." Which honestly makes me want to see Mike Lawson give her a lap dance to this song that starts out as a joke, but then Ginny's really, unexpectedly into it.
> 
> Thanks so much to @fixatedbytv for sending letters for the #PickUpPitch campaign! 
> 
> If you want me to write something for your own prompt, post a picture of your letter/postcard to Hulu/Netflix asking them to #PickUpPitch and tag me on [tumblr](http://www.megaphonemonday.tumblr.com)/[twitter](https://twitter.com/megaphonemonday)


	3. for @night57byrd: this gigantic favor to ask of you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @night57byrd asked for: Would love a wedding story for Bawson, or baby bawson…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: sick!Ginny, future!fic, Say Yes to the Dress
> 
> chapter title: My Best Friend's Wedding, "Michael, I love you. I've loved you for nine years. I've just been too arrogant and scared to realize it, and, well, now, I'm just scared, so - I-I-I realize this comes at a very inopportune time, but I really have _this gigantic favor to ask of you. _Choose me. M-marry me. Let me make you happy__."

Often as Mike bragged about how well he knew Ginny to the rest of the Padres (ahem, _Robles_ ), she was still fully capable of surprising him.

Case in point: when Ginny was sick, she watched reality TV. A lot of reality TV. Specifically: _Say Yes to the Dress._

He could see the list of her recently watched shows on the TV, even though Ginny shifted in the door to try and block his view.

"What are you doing?" she rasped suspiciously, looking only a little bit better than death warmed over. All of her clothes were at least two sizes too big. Not a speck of lycra or spandex was in sight, but there was Kleenex shoved up her sweatshirt sleeve.

Mike held up his plastic bag full of pharmacy provisions: cold medicine, saltines, cough drops, and a bag of Swedish Fish for when she felt better.

"I heard that you were on your deathbed. Came by to pay my last respects. Looks like I was just in—"

The door closed in his face.

Mike stood outside the condo he still hadn't seen—having been in LA when Ginny (ahem, _Evelyn_ ) threw her housewarming party—and practically roared with laughter. He had to lean against the rail of her stoop in order to stay on his feet. The door cracked open again, revealing Ginny wearing a reluctant smile.

"Who told you to check in on me?" she asked  when Mike's laughter finally died down, though she did need to pause to cough.

"Blip. He or Ev would've come by themselves, but both the boys caught the bug that's going around, too."

Ginny nodded, but didn't move out of the doorway.

"You gonna let me in or not, Baker?

After one last, suspicious look, she shuffled back and allowed him inside. Ginny headed straight for the couch, leaving Mike to close the door as she flopped down onto the cushions. By the time Mike followed, picking his way around a pile of used Kleenex on the floor, she'd already started another episode and snuggled back into her blanket nest.

Mike surveyed the rest of her surroundings. There was a plate of toast crusts on the coffee table, so she'd at least eaten _something_ recently. He didn't see any kind of cold medicine, though.

He fished the bottle of cough syrup from the bag and set about pouring a dose. Not that Ginny paid him any attention, her gaze fixed on the brides-to-be onscreen. That stare was only broken when Mike shoved the little plastic cup at her, ignoring the look of disgust she shot him until one hand wiggled out of her cocoon and she downed the bright red liquid, grimacing all the while.

That done, he set about cleaning up the disaster zone that was Ginny's apartment.

That was not at all a surprise. Once she'd stopped expecting to be sent down after every less than impressive start, she'd allowed herself to stop keeping her cubby so pristinely organized. Of course that was only amplified in her home.

About 20 minutes later, as Mike was washing dishes in the kitchen, Ginny called his name.

"Whaddya want, sickie?" he called back, drying his hands before wandering over to the couch. Ginny was sitting up, her comforter piled around her shoulders. What was concerning, though, was the way her bottom lip trembled, tears pooling along her lower lashes. "Hey, now," he murmured, picking up his pace, "what's wrong?"

Pitifully, she pointed at the screen where a woman stood shedding her own tears over the heavy, white gown she'd just put on. "That's never going to be me."

"What do you mean, rookie?" he asked, dropping in the affectionate nickname only because she was pretty hopped up on cough syrup and wouldn't protest.

"I'm never going to get married," she sniffled.

Ginny'd just gone through (another) high-profile breakup, and while she'd put on a pretty good front in the clubhouse and on the field, Mike had managed to get her to admit she was pretty bummed. He considered it a success, but supposed it wasn't surprising that her feelings went much deeper.

Still, he had to hope this sudden bout of wedding blues was more about the codeine pumping through her bloodstream than the breakup.

"What if no one ever marries me?" she cried, flopping dramatically back onto the cushions.

Mike struggled not to laugh. Codeine was a hell of a drug. Rounding the front and picking up her feet to clear a space to sit, he asked, "Don't you get like twelve proposals a week in your fan mail?"

"Those don't count," she pouted. Her nose scrunched up in annoyance as she rambled, "They just see pictures of me in magazines and think that's real. They watch my interviews and don't realize how I have to think about every word I say three times before I let it out. They don't _know_ me. They don't want _me_."

"You'll find someone who wants you."

"What if I don't?"

He sighed and bit back the obvious reply. _You already have._

"You really wanna get married that badly?" Pitifully, she nodded. Knowing she wouldn't remember this in the morning, let alone in the time frame he'd give, Mike said, "Fine. On the off chance you can't find anyone to put up with your ass in the next ten years, I'll marry you."

She lit up. "You will?"

"Yeah, Baker," he replied, smiling at the relief on her face, but knowing it wasn't the reaction he really wanted. "I will."

 

* * *

 

As it turned out, it took Mike and Ginny far less than ten years to make it down the aisle. Ginny didn't go to Kleinfeld's for her dress, though Mike offered to take her several times. So what? The show had rubbed off on him.

Still, when he finally saw Ginny walking down the aisle toward him, looking radiant and so, so happy, he didn't even mind missing out on that trip.

(Not to be a sap, but he had a much better journey to look forward to.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I was literally just at a wedding and have confirmed my inability to make it through one ceremony without bawling like a baby, so you really got me at a vulnerable time in my life. Which I don't even mind because I freaking love weddings. I love 'em, can't get enough of 'em. 
> 
> I am terrible at writing them. So I really hope that wedding-adjacent is okay!
> 
> Thanks so much to @night57byrd for sending letters for the #PickUpPitch campaign! 
> 
> If you want me to write something for your own prompt, post a picture of your letter/postcard to Hulu/Netflix asking them to #PickUpPitch and tag me on [tumblr](http://www.megaphonemonday.tumblr.com)/[twitter](https://twitter.com/megaphonemonday)


	4. for @alwayskels: not for adults

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @alwayskels asked for: After one of Ginny's first games back after having a baby girl. "Omar whatever you put in those pregame smoothies worked! We shut the Dodgers out!" Vorhies said slapping Omar on the back. "Has anyone seen the milk I pumped before the game? I put it in the fridge." Ginny asked the team. Most of the guys on the team clutch their stomachs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chronology: chronology: [maybe, hopefully, against all odds](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/20905271) | [how difficult things are](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10973937/chapters/24434319) | not for adults | [allow me the influence](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/20469673)
> 
> chapter tags: Padres team time, baby!fic, future!fic, pranks
> 
> chapter title: Basically ripped off from the Friends episode with the breast milk.

Ginny felt like she was on top of the world. It had been so good to be back on the field again—a homecoming of sorts, and she didn’t think it was just her hormones making her feel like that. For her first home start to end in a shut out, to hear the crowd roar as she left the field for the last time, it really was the win that she needed. 

Much as she'd ended up loving her maternity leave, bonding with Ruby and teasing Mike about intruding on his laid back retirement, she had missed the game. And, after a while, her teammates, too.

So, she let herself be buoyed along into the clubhouse, surrounded by her boys and the sweet rush of victory.

They were still whooping as they hit the main hub, spreading out to their lockers. As they went, there was plenty friendly jostling and congratulatory back pats for Ginny. Blip hooked an arm around her neck and grinned down at her, chest puffed out in pride.

"Glad to have you back, G."

"Glad to be back, Cap'n," she returned, hip checking him out of her space.

He pushed her off towards her cubby with a laugh.

Ginny rubbed at her collar bone as she went, wondering if she should pump in her dressing room before going home or just change and get out of here. She didn't really want to keep her driver (or his tiny copilot, who was no doubt overdue for a nap) waiting. Anyway, it hadn't been a very long game, and her breasts didn't feel too heavy. She could probably make it home without leaking breast milk everywhere.

Which Ginny was pretty sure had never been a thought anyone had ever had in the Padres' clubhouse before.

Chuckling to herself, she headed off to change.

When she came out, Ginny was entirely unsurprised to find most of her teammates still in their uniforms, going through a play by play of the game.

"Man, that catch out at the wall was beautiful," gushed Salvi to the team's new left fielder, a young guy named Aaron Simpson.

The guy had just gotten into San Diego a few days ago, straight from AAA, and was still getting his sea legs. He looked down, clearly a little overwhelmed. Ginny couldn't help but smile, remembering what a rush it had been to finally get a real compliment from her teammates after getting called up.

"Thanks," Aaron replied, looking back up bashfully. Then, he nodded over to Ginny, offering her a grin. "Just wanted to do my part. Keep the shutout going for our pitcher."

Ginny nodded back, but didn't get a chance to reply.

"Ginny you were on fire!" crowed Dusty, sprawled out in his swivel chair. "Seven innings and one hit? Too bad you can't come off maternity leave every game."

"Yeah, that's not how pregnancy works," she laughed, shaking her head and heading for the fridge. There was one last thing had to get before she could leave and go home.

Dusty just shrugged and swiveled to Omar, seated next to him. Behind her back, she could hear him slap the infielder on the back.

"Man, you're in charge of pre-game meals from now on. Whatever you put in those smoothies really did the trick. I mean, a shutout against the Dodgers? That's the kind of mojo we need."

There was a chorus of agreement, requests for the recipe as Ginny rummaged through the team fridge. Someone had shoved the bottle of her pumped breast milk all the way to the back. For a heart-stopping moment, she thought it was actually gone. As Omar went through all the stuff he put in the smoothies, denying that he'd added anything special today, a brilliant thought coalesced in Ginny's mind.

Shoving the little bottle into her breast pump case and zipping her backpack closed, Ginny wandered back out to the main room, a frown on her face.

Omar was saying, "Nah, I use this soy milk that I bring from home," which really couldn't be more perfect for her purposes.

"Hey, did anyone move the milk I pumped before the game?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm sure I put it in the fridge."

As one, 23 horrified pairs of eyes swiveled to Omar. Omar just blinked, fear blanking out his features. Nervously, his eyes darted to the kitchenette behind Ginny.

"Tell me you didn't," groaned Sonny, a fist raised to his mouth and looking nauseated.

"No. No way. I couldn't've," Omar breathed, though he sounded less certain with each denial.

More than one Padre started to rub at their stomachs uncertainly.

Schooling her voice, Ginny continued, "I mean, I found the bottle in the sink, but why would one of you just dump it out? You guys know I have to feed my kid, right?"

Javanes pushed by her and stood staring in horror at the sink and the blender pitcher sitting in it. "I think I'm gonna be sick," he announced, dashing for the bathroom.

On cue, a rain of dirty socks and more than one jock strap fell on poor Omar. A barrage of groans and disgust followed, the Padres making their displeasure known. Loudly. Butch started to scrub at his tongue, though Ginny was sure the towel he used was more suspect than a smoothie with a little breast milk in it. More than one water bottle was drained, trying to cleanse some palates. Even Blip looked a little queasy, though with twin boys he probably shouldn't have looked so grossed out. Ginny struggled not to break, sternly telling herself to keep her cool.

Omar just looked like he wanted to disappear, sinking lower and lower into his chair. She was going to have to find some way to make it up to him. Maybe a fruit basket...

Just as she was about to cave and tell them all it was just a joke, the double doors of the clubhouse were pushed open, banging against the cinderblock walls.

Three years retired and the man still couldn't resist making an entrance.

"Baker, what is with the hold up?" Mike Lawson demanded, 9-month-old Ruby strapped to his chest and gurgling her agreement.

When the baby laid eyes on her mom, though, her chubby little face lit up and her arms waved, fingers grasping the air. "Mama!"

Ginny jogged over, her prank forgotten. "Hello, baby girl!" she cooed, brushing a hand over her soft head. To Mike, she answered, "Sorry, got caught up in here."

"Why am I not surprised?" Lawson cast a judgmental eye over the crew of groaning, whining Padres—a few were gagging and more were following Javanes to the bathroom, throwing Omar dirty looks as they went—and nodded his understanding. "Do I wanna know what happened to them?"

Ginny studied the scene before them, 24 fully-grown men, many of whom had children of their own, steadily losing their minds at the thought of having ingested some breast milk. She shrugged. They'd survive not knowing the truth for a while longer.

Looking up at Mike, she replied, "Nah. Let's go home."

He shook his head, smiling ruefully like he knew she was full of it, but didn't argue. "Whatever you say, Gin."

"That's right, old man," she laughed, turning her back on her over-dramatic teammates.

Together, they walked out of the clubhouse, leaving the mayhem behind.

It was so good to be back, on the job and with her team, but honestly?

It would be even better to get home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You said goofy/fun was okay and I find nothing more fun than pranky Ginny. Especially since I'm sure Mike would've stopped being a fun target about 3 months in, and Ruby hasn't quite developed her sense of humor yet.
> 
> Thanks so so much to @alwayskels for sending letters for the #PickUpPitch campaign! And, of course, for doing so much to organize the campaign in the first place. You are such a super star! You and any other PST organizers can have any prompt you like!
> 
> If you want me to write something for your own prompt, post a picture of your letter/postcard to Hulu/Netflix asking them to #PickUpPitch and tag me on [tumblr](http://www.megaphonemonday.tumblr.com)/[twitter](https://twitter.com/megaphonemonday)


	5. for @newyorkrican922: when you realize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @newyorkrican922 asked for: Bawson proposal with Mike being the human disaster that he is and maybe referencing to how they first met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: future!fic, proposals, Mike trying to keep his cool
> 
> chapter title: When Harry Met Sally, " _When you realize_ you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."

“Pick up the pace, Baker,” Mike nearly barked over his shoulder as he dragged her through the tunnel from the Padres clubhouse to the dugout. 

“If you wanted to run a race, Lawson,” she snarked, “you should’ve told me ahead of time. I’d’ve put on my Nikes.”

Mike didn’t reply, though he did slow down just enough on the stairs that Ginny didn’t trip over her less-than-practical heels. 

To be fair, she hadn’t thought that a dinner with her boyfriend really necessitated practical footwear, but maybe this was just more of Mike’s weirdness tonight.

He’d fidgeted all through dinner, and needed her to repeat herself more than once. She’d cracked a joke about hearing aids, so he started paying better attention. Afterwards, Ginny suggested they take a walk. Mike agreed, but couldn’t stop checking his watch. Which was when she told him she was tired and wanted to go home.

He’d practically shouted, “No!” before clearing his throat and continuing that there was one more thing they had to do tonight.

Now, he was dragging her across the infield, apparently uncaring that the water on the freshly irrigated grass was soaking the cuffs of his pants.

Finally, though, he halted, glancing critically at their surroundings before nodding in satisfaction. 

Ginny just watched, confused as hell.

For the first time of the evening, Mike focused all of his attention on Ginny. He shifted his grip on her hand so his thumb could brush tenderly over her knuckles. 

“Do you know where we are?”

Ginny squinted at Mike, unsure of what he was driving at. Indulgently, she replied, “We’re at Petco. Is your memory starting to go, old man?”

He shot her a sour look. “You’re never gonna give up on the geriatric jokes, are you?”

“Nope,” she grinned.

“C’mon, Gin. Where are we standing right now?”

There were quite a few correct answers. In ascending order of specificity: California, San Diego, Petco Park, halfway between third and the wall. 

Somehow, Ginny was sure those weren’t what he was looking for. 

She glanced around, taking in the balconies hanging off the Western Metal Supply Co. Building, the blank screen of the jumbotron, and the pink sunset slowly fading to dusk. Familiar as it all was, Ginny had no clue what Mike wanted to hear. Helplessly, she shrugged, offering an apologetic grin.

“And you think I’m the one with memory problems,” he teased, shaking his head. Before Ginny could offer a retort, he took a step closer. “It was right here, in this very spot, four years ago that we first met.”

Ginny blinked as memories rushed over her: her too-big hat pulled down over her ears, the crinkle of her windbreaker as she first stepped on the field, the heavy thud of her heart when Mike caught sight of her and swaggered over. 

A smile began to grow on her face. That was all right here. Her fingers tightened around Mike’s and she looked up into his face. 

“You slapped my ass,” she reminded him if only because he was looking a little too smug.

“For the first—and not last—time.”

Holding in a snort, Ginny replied, “All right, superstar. I remember.”

“Good,” he replied, pulling their hands up so he could press a kiss to her knuckles. “Let me tell you something about that day. I saw you and knew you were going to turn my life upside down. And you have. In all the best ways. You’re my best friend. My favorite person. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Only, there’s a question I should ask first.”

Remarkably smoothly for a man who loved to use his aching knees as an excuse to pull her on top of him in bed, Mike sank to the damp grass. 

A breathless laugh escaped Ginny at the sight of Mike Lawson on one knee before her. He waited silently, expectant.

“What’s the question?” she managed, only a little overcome.

His head jerked, gesturing behind him, a teasing grin on display. “Why don’t you take a look?”

On cue, the jumbotron lit up. An animated cake topper, with matching Padres hats, danced across the screen, landing right on top of a giant engagement ring. Underneath, in a fancy, curling font were words that took Ginny’s breath away. 

_Ginny Baker, will you marry me?_

She stared for a long moment, trying to keep her tears under control, when Mike’s voice cut in. 

“Gin, you’re killing me.”

Her eyes cut back to Mike, who had opened the box, revealing a glittering sapphire ring. Even brighter, though, was the nervous smile on his face. 

Wordlessly, Ginny nodded, pressing her fingers to her lips like they could contain her joy. 

“Yeah?” he asked, uncertainty falling away. 

“Yeah.”

She tugged him to his feet, hardly letting him slide the ring on her finger before crashing into him. Her fiancé! They were both smiling too wide to bother much with finesse, simply pressing as close to one another as possible.

Before they could get into it, though, a piercing whistle cut through the dusk, followed by raucous applause. Lining the home dugout were the San Diego Padres, whooping and cheering for their former captain and current pitcher.

“You invited them?” she demanded, laughing and hiding her face in Mike’s shoulder.

“Duarte overheard me talking to Russell and threatened to spill the beans to you,” Mike admitted, thoroughly disgruntled. “Guess he decided the rest of the team was fair game.”

Ginny laughed again, but didn’t bother to hide from the wolf whistles. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of herself plastered across the jumbotron.

God, even the camera crew had come out for this!

Mike waggled his eyebrows. “One more before we deal with them?”

That didn’t deserve more response than Ginny twining her arms around his neck and kissing Mike, slow and unhurried. It didn’t matter that they had a cheering section and more than one HD camera capturing the moment. 

She wanted to kiss her fiancé, damn it! She’d stop when she was good and ready.

(That might very well be never, but that wasn’t such a problem, was it?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I definitely didn't lean into human disaster Mike Lawson as hard as I could've, but hopefully you got how nervous the poor boy was. Just try to imagine the inner monologue, and then you'll get a sense of what a disaster human he is.
> 
> Thanks so much to @newyorkrican922 for sending in postcards for the #PickUpPitch campaign! 
> 
> If you want me to write something for your own prompt, post a picture of your letter/postcard to Hulu/Netflix asking them to #PickUpPitch and tag me on [tumblr](http://www.megaphonemonday.tumblr.com)/[twitter](https://twitter.com/megaphonemonday)


	6. for @alwayskels: would've gotten away with it too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @alwayskels asked for: While in Toronto for an away game Ginny takes Drake up on his offer for a date. The Padres don't trust him and crash their date to keep an eye on their girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: season 1 timestamp, Padres team hijinks, Ginny is better than everyone
> 
> chapter title: ... it's not _not_ from Scooby Doo...

If Ginny hadn’t been starting for their first game in Toronto, she might have paid more attention to whatever the hell it was her teammates were up to. But this was her first chance to play in an interleague game at an American League field. Much as she was looking forward to having a DH, she needed to have a strong start if that was all she could contribute to the game. And that meant knowing the Blue Jays lineup front, back, and inside out.

So, when Blip shoved another bottle of champagne in her face, along with another opened card, Ginny made general sounds of interest to whatever questions were thrown her way all while keeping her eyes fixed on scouting reports. 

There was part of her that wondered what the big deal was, but the heat maps and video on her tablet were way more important. Not that Eliot seemed to understand when he insisted on snapping a picture of her and the champagne to post to instagram. Ginny smiled and went straight back to her prep work. 

(If there was more discontented muttering around her than usual, Ginny clearly had other things to focus on.)

In fact, she completely forgot about the interruption until after the game—a solid seven innings in which she only allowed one run to the Padres’ four—when she was leaving her curtained off area and nearly walked straight into Lawson.

He leaned against one of the cubbies, leather jacket on and backpack at his feet. In his hand was the forgotten bottle of champagne. 

“Forgetting something?” he asked, gruff. Probably because he’d had to pick up after her. 

She took the bottle off him. “Didn’t this come with a card?” There was a vague memory of an already opened card.

Mike fished it out of his pocket and handed it over. Ginny didn’t allow herself to wonder if he would’ve given it back if she hadn’t asked. Instead, she read it over.

> _Ginny,_
> 
> _I know you turned down the jet, but maybe you’ll consider meeting up with me now that you’re in town? I’m hosting a party downtown tonight, I’d love to see you there._
> 
> _Hit me up,  
> _
> 
> _Drake_

Laughing a little, she swung her backpack off her shoulders to stow both the gift and card. 

“So, shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

“Huh?”

Mike shook his head, rolling his eyes. “Don’t you check your instagram?”

“Do you?” she shot back, straightening up.

He grumbled and shoved his phone in her face. On the screen was the picture Eliot must have taken before the game. She’d gotten much better at smiling on demand; the grin on her face looked entirely natural. 

It was the caption and comments, though, that her captain probably wanted her to see. Something a little flirty from her—Eliot maybe needed a little oversight from now on—followed by a comment from Drake and some back and forth that eventually landed on Eliot accepting a date with a rapper on Ginny’s behalf.

Yeah, he definitely needed some oversight.

Ginny handed Mike his phone back and shrugged. “Huh. I guess you’re right.” The guys were going out to celebrate the win, but they could probably do with a night off from the Ginny Baker circus. 

Mike’s eyes narrowed. “About what?”

“That I should be getting ready,” she tossed over her shoulder with a grin.

 

* * *

 

Ginny smoothed the tight skirt of her dress back down over her thighs. When she’d gotten back to the hotel, Amelia’d already had it waiting. It was beautiful. even if it was more to her agent’s taste than hers. Still, the appreciative up and down that her date—Jesus, she was on a date with  _Drake_ —gave her when he met her at the door was nice. 

She’d blushed and didn’t really even mind when he left her in the VIP area to mingle. Apparently hosting a party at an actual club was serious business. The fact that he was cute and had been focused so intently on her meant the breathing room was probably necessary. 

A fun night out was one thing, but letting herself get distracted by some fling was not in her plans. Definitely not for her first season in the majors, at least.

She was just thinking about getting another drink when her attention snagged on a group of club goers crowding the steps up into the VIP platform, no doubt trying to talk their way in. Ordinarily, this kind of thing wouldn’t have fazed her, but the sight of a very familiar face (and beard, god damn it) had her pushing through the crowd to investigate.

“These friends of yours, Miss Baker?” asked the bouncer on her arrival. Ginny turned to survey the group waiting at the bottom of the steps. 

Her teammates.

Most of them had the sense to look somewhat contrite, though whether that was because they were spying or because they’d been caught, Ginny couldn’t say. Mike grinned, though, not even bothering to look repentant. Blip shuffled a step away in shame.

Good. 

She studied them for a long moment, crossing her arms over her chest and enjoying watching them squirm. Finally, she smiled, indulgent and forgiving, waiting until the tension in their shoulders relaxed and they began jostling and ribbing each other, ready to join the party. 

Only then did Ginny turn back to the bouncer and announce, “Nope. Never seen them in my life.”

The bouncer grinned his approval. “You heard her, boys.”

At that, she turned on her heel, ignoring the protests of her teammates and not even caring that they were going to give her so much shit for this. 

She had better things to do. Like get a drink and finish her date with a world famous rapper. 

(If she looked over her shoulder and caught Mike’s annoyed gaze, that was Ginny’s business. If she also stuck her tongue out at him and waited until he nodded his acknowledgment of her victory, that was even more her business.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drake would be so lucky to go on a date with Ginny Baker. 
> 
> Thanks so much Kelci for all you've done organizing the #PickUpPitch campaign! 
> 
> If you want me to write something for your own prompt, post a picture of your letter/postcard to Hulu/Netflix asking them to #PickUpPitch and tag me on [tumblr](http://www.megaphonemonday.tumblr.com)/[twitter](https://twitter.com/megaphonemonday)


	7. for @hermiginnyharvelle: a matchless match

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @hermiginnyharvelle asked for: Maybe something with Blip and/or Evelyn serving as matchmakers after Mike goes on his "these are things about Ginny" rant?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: Blip and Evelyn FTW, matchmaking/meddling, future!fic
> 
> chapter title: "Matchmaker" from _Fiddler on the Roof_

Blip sighed, content, as his wife settled more firmly into his side. His arm curled around her shoulders and she nestled her cheek against his chest. They’d just sent the boys to get ready for bed and were enjoying some quality time before they followed.

He pressed a kiss to Evie’s temple, murmuring, “I’m so happy, babe. Are you?”

“Yes,” she replied, instant and unwavering. The fact that not even a few months ago that answer might not have been so sure made something tug in Blip’s stomach. But that was then. Now, he and Ev had worked through so much, and even if it was an ongoing process, they were in a better place than they’d been at the beginning of September.

Blip grinned and went to kiss his wife again when she continued, “But...”

“But?”

Evelyn shifted on the couch so she could face him. “Wouldn’t it be better if our friends were as happy as we are?”

“Ev, if the world were as happy as we are, there’d be a lot fewer problems.”

“Exactly! So, if it were in our power to spread a little happiness, we should, right?” She grinned, innocent and wide-eyed.

Blip wasn’t buying it.

Long past suspicious, he asked, “What are you planning?”

“Nothing!” she replied, like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. “Just, some of our friends are going through a tough time right now, and we—”

“Which friends?” he demanded. Evelyn suddenly clammed up. “Ginny?” His wife shifted, but clearly there was more. Judging by the patient, expectant look on her face, that could only mean: “Mike.”

“You said it,” she all but confirmed, like she hadn’t led him by the nose. “Ginny’s still having a hard time with her rehab and Mike shouldn’t be left alone in that house of his now that Rachel’s gone. Again.”

It wasn’t like she was wrong. But Blip was having a much harder time working through his issues with Mike than he had with Evelyn. He still didn’t like how easily Mike had almost left the team.

Still, he’d hear Evie out.

“And you think we can do something to help them?”

“Or maybe we can help them help each other?”

Nine years Blip had known his wife and the one thing she’d proved over and over again was that she did not do things without reason. There had to be a reason behind this. Maybe a reason that trumped Blip’s vague uneasiness about throwing Mike and Ginny together, built up over a season of witnessing moments and looks and one memorable warning to Omar.

But Evelyn didn’t know that. 

What _did_ she know?

“Evie, have you been keeping secrets?” 

She grinned and shrugged, sheepishly apologetic. “Not on purpose,” his wife defended. “There was a lot going on!”

“When?”

“Right before Ginny got hurt! She went on that date with the billionaire?”

“Yeah,” he said, unsure of what Noah Casey had to do with anything. 

“Well,” she drawled, clearly relishing the chance to gossip, “she left early. To go meet Mike.”

Blip managed to keep his fists from clenching. He’d _told_  him to invite the guys out for a drink, and Mike had to go and use the opportunity to try something with Ginny?

“Nothing happened,” Evelyn soothed, though he could tell she thought he was being ridiculous. That was probably fair. 

“But you think something should.”

“Don’t you? They’re our best friends! And clearly there’s _something_  between them.”

There were about a million reasons for Mike and Ginny not to act on whatever it was between them, but honestly? 

Blip loved his wife and being on her team. 

He could let her have this.

 

* * *

 

“Old man, you don’t have any idea what you’re talking about!” Ginny cried, nearly sloshing her wine out of the glass. 

He hooted with laughter, cheeks pink and looking far happier than Blip had seen him in weeks. “Right. Because you’re the expert on this.”

“More than you are!”

Blip and Evelyn might as well not be there, for all it was happening in their house, at their patio table, while eating their food and drinking their wine.

Evelyn jerked her head towards the house, rising and clearing plates. Blip followed suit, much as part of him would rather stay and play chaperone. The fact that Ginny was looking brighter and lighter than she had in weeks, even deep in an argument with their captain, made it less of a hardship. 

He cleared both their plates without either of them skipping a beat in their debate—something about Star Wars that Blip immediately tuned out when Mike brought it up, and went to join Ev in the kitchen. 

In spite of the stack of dirty dishes on the counter, his wife wiped down the counter, attention fixed on the pair they’d left outside.

Under the dim glow of the patio lights, Mike and Ginny leaned closer to each other. There wasn’t anything inherently romantic about it—Ginny looked indignant and Mike had a shit eating grin—but Blip still understood it when Evelyn sighed a little dreamily. There was something right about the two of them. The way Ginny clearly cut Mike off and he didn’t get all pissy the way he would with anyone else. Or maybe the way Mike didn’t pull his punches with Ginny. He still made her laugh, loud and brassy, looking delighted every time he did.

Blip still wasn’t convinced that this was a thing that needed to be happening _now—_ not while Mike was still captain and Ginny was still carving out her place in the league—but he could admit it wouldn’t be such a bad thing in the future.

“We’re really good at this, aren’t we?”

Blip just laughed and pulled Evelyn around to face him. He dropped a sweet, affectionate kiss on her mouth, loving the way she stretched up so he wouldn’t have to bend so far. 

“Whatever you say babe,” he replied once he could bring himself to pull away. “Whatever you say.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, I've been dying to tackle Blip and Evelyn, so thank you for giving me a reason to do it!
> 
> Thanks so much to @hermiginnyharvelle for sending letters and postcards for the #PickUpPitch campaign! 
> 
> If you want me to write something for your own prompt, post a picture of your letter/postcard to Hulu/Netflix asking them to #PickUpPitch and tag me on [tumblr](http://www.megaphonemonday.tumblr.com)/[twitter](https://twitter.com/megaphonemonday)


	8. for @hermiginnyharvelle: a tus zapatos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @hermiginnyharvelle asked for: Either the whole team or just Livan himself get really tired of Mike and Ginny beating around the bush and Livan decides to pretend to go after Ginny himself to bring her and Mike together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: NSFR: language, Padres-centric, Livan POV, Padres team hi-jinks
> 
> chapter title: Spanish proverb, "Zapatero, _a tus zapatos_." (Basically: Mind your own business.)

“Dude, I can’t take this any more,” groaned Sonny, eyes fixed on the backs of their bickering former captain (current player liaison) and pitcher as they blew through the clubhouse. “If they don’t bang soon, the sexual frustration’s gonna kill us all.”

Sanders pursed his lips, but didn’t disagree.

“We’ve gotta do something, right?” That was Salvamini. Livan thought that with four kids at home and an 0-for-9 streak, he probably should’ve been focusing on himself rather than the romantic lives of his teammates. 

Well, one teammate.  _Mami_  and her thing with Lawson was a favorite topic of conversation around the clubhouse. Only when she wasn’t around, of course.

Livan, who generally tried to avoid this nonsense, sank low on the couch. He didn’t bother turning up the volume on his pre-game playlist, though. 

He might not approve of gossip; didn’t mean he didn’t want to know what it was.

“ _We’ve_ gotta do something?” returned Sonny, indignant.

“Lawson’s gotta do something,” Melky muttered.

“Yeah, well, Lawson’s not gonna do shit ‘til someone lights a fire under his ass.”

Robles was frowning at his locker. That was probably his totally obvious crush on Ginny, though. “What kinda fire?”

“Remember how heated he got over those dates she went on with Captain America?” Voorhies offered. 

The clubhouse considered for a moment. Lawson _had_  been unusually touchy, then. Whether that was because Chris Evans had been working a beard or was undoubtedly the more impressive captain, though, was anyone’s guess.

“Okay,” Sonny clarified, “we don’t  want her to actually start dating someone else.”

“So we throw our own horse in the race!” Salvamini exclaimed, popping to his feet in excitement. “Someone who won’t try anything with Ginny, just make Mike _think_  he’s trying something.”

“Yeah, but who’s not gonna try something with Baker?”

There was a silence as they all acknowledged the truth of that.

Then, tentative and uncertain, came Robles: “One of us?”

A low murmur built into a dull roar as the Padres piled onto this idea, squabbling over who would be the bait and trying to lay out a game plan. 

Livan shook his head and went back to his scouting reports. 

Idiots. All of them.

Which was when Blip made his first contribution to the conversation. Fingers steepled below his chin, he cleared his throat and silence fell. Everyone turned to their captain, who regarded his team with a mixture of exasperation, pity, and resignation. 

“You’re forgetting something: Ginny doesn’t date ballplayers.”

A rumble of discontent rolled through the room until someone pointed out, “She dated Davis.”

Sanders frowned at that, his eyes darting around the room, daring them to make comment on Ginny’s code. A few years ago, there would’ve been no shortage of snide remarks.

Today, silence reigned. Maybe they weren’t _such_  idiots.

Blip’s jaw shifted from side to side as he considered his teammates for a long moment. 

“And she definitely has a thing for Lawson,” he  finally said, prompting renewed excitement. 

“Maybe she’s got a thing for catchers,” one of the relievers suggested.

As one, every pair of eyes turned to Livan.

It wasn’t so long ago that he didn’t have to worry about bullshit like  whatever it was Ginny and Lawson were getting up to. Or not getting up to.

Livan missed those days.

Because back in those days, even if there were real problems to contend with, he wouldn’t have been roped into a scheme concocted by a bunch of busybodies masquerading as baseball players. A scheme that Livan was sure was destined to backfire on someone. Probably him.

But honestly, if anyone was going to flirt with Ginny Baker for ulterior motives, it had better be him. He was her catcher, no matter what Lawson said. When a man retired, he gave up his claim on a job title.

It wouldn’t do to give in as easily as that, though.

“¿ _Que pasa?”_ he asked, as if he hadn’t been following the entire conversation, pulling his headphones down to hang around his neck.

“Cut the shit, Livan,” Blip warned. “You in or not?”

“Why should I?”

“Because maybe if Lawson’s getting some, he’ll give up playing backseat catcher?”

“And stop hovering whenever you spend more than three minutes with Ginny?”

“And let—”

“Fine!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “Fine. I’ll do this, but if Lawson murders me, you all have to explain to my _abuela_ why.” 

With that, he went in search of the pitcher and her bearded shadow.

As he searched, he thought. 

It wasn’t like flirting with Ginny was any kind of hardship. What was hard would be getting her to take him seriously.

If Ginny didn’t take him seriously, there was no way Lawson was going to get off his ass and make a move. Much as their former captain liked to play chaperone when Livan and Ginny prepped or worked out together, Lawson knew he wasn’t a threat. Livan could flirt with Ginny all he wanted, everyone knew exactly how much it meant.

Not one fucking thing.

Not as long as Mike Lawson was around.

Well, whatever, Livan could wing it. 

Or, he would’ve. If, upon opening the door to Mike’s office after a brief knock, he hadn’t been thrown for such a loop, that is. 

What the hell had he just interrupted?

Except: the way that Ginny jerked away from where Lawson was seated on his desk, flush riding high over her cheeks and ears; the way her jersey had been tugged out from the waistband of her pants; and definitely the way Lawson was glaring daggers told Livan _exactly_ what he’d interrupted.

“What do we have here?”

Still blushing, Ginny darted a look at Mike, who just rolled his eyes, before fixing her attention back on Livan and asking, “Can you keep a secret?”

Now, this was an interesting proposal. A chance to get everyone off his back for once  _and_  have Lawson owe him one?

That was the kind of scheme Livan could get behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And look at me go, successfully managing to hide how terrible I am at flirting by dodging it yet again!
> 
> Thanks so much to @hermiginnyharvelle for sending letters and postcards for the #PickUpPitch campaign! 
> 
> If you want me to write something for your own prompt, post a picture of your letter/postcard to Hulu/Netflix asking them to #PickUpPitch and tag me on [tumblr](http://www.megaphonemonday.tumblr.com)/[twitter](https://twitter.com/megaphonemonday)


	9. for @ginnnybakerlawson: wetter is better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @ginnnybakerlawson asked for: I just wanted some domestic bawson fluff in the pool with some splashing and squirt guns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: water gun fight, Padres barbecue, Aunt Ginny and Uncle Mike (it's no secret who the twins love more)
> 
> chapter title: old Super Soaker slogan. I could not make that up

Mike looked down when he felt something tug at his t-shirt. What else was he supposed to do? The burgers and brats weren’t going to burn in the second that he looked away.

He wasn’t sure what he expected, though it probably wasn’t the Sanders twins staring beseechingly up at him. 

“Can I help you?” he asked, eyebrow arched.

Gabe and Marcus traded a look before turning back to him. 

“Dad said you’d help us get Aunt Ginny,” Marcus informed him.

Mike looked across the pool and patio where Blip was relaxing with a beer, his wife, and a group of other Padres, then returned to surveying the center fielder’s children. 

“Get her how?”

Gabe took over. “We think you should throw her in the pool.”

“A little payback, huh?” Mike asked, though the answer was obvious. Both boys were dripping wet, and there had been plenty of shrieking protests since they arrived and Ginny decided to revert to childhood. 

Each stared up at him, unflinching. 

“Yeah, all right,” he agreed, turning back to the grill. “Just give me a few—”

“It has to be now!”

“Otherwise she’ll figure it out!”

“Please, uncle Mike?”

“Please?”

“Fine! Fine!” he laughed, pulling off his Kiss the Cook apron—he’d only been slightly disappointed when Ginny threw her head back and cackled at the sight of it—and gesturing for Voorhies to take over the grill. “What’s the plan, boys?”

They chattered over one another, eager to conspire as they pulled him towards the pool house. Mike was so busy trying to keep up, he didn’t notice the way they were nearly giggling, eyes darting to a particular spot. 

Not until it was too late.

By the time Mike realized that the twins had drawn him into a trap, Ginny was already charging up the stairs from the kitchen, guns blazing. 

Well, water guns spraying.

Her aim was spot on, drenching his face and chest, even as he tried to dodge away. Apparently, though, that wasn’t enough. 

“Get him!” she shouted, and on cue, her two minions pulled out their own water guns—Where had they even hidden them?—and began their attack. 

Soon enough, Gabe and Marcus had collapsed into laughter at the sight of their illustrious uncle Mike dripping wet, their parents echoing them. Most of the Padres, in fact, echoing them. 

Ginny, on the other hand, giant Super Soakers pointed to the sky as she surveyed the damage, was looking entirely too proud of herself.

And entirely too dry.

“Oh, Baker.” Mike didn’t bother to raise his voice. He’d learned long ago how to make even the rowdiest listen. “It is _on_.”

Ginny just shook her head, a taunting little grin plastered over her face. 

It stayed there even as Mike took a menacing step forward.

It stayed there right up until Mike barreled straight into her, knocking them both into the pool.

Under the water, Ginny’s body was warm and pliant, too surprised to struggle. His arms wrapped tight around her waist, and her legs tangled with his. 

Much as he might have wished to stay under water, twined together, they were only human. They needed to breathe.

Breaking the surface, the first sound that filtered into Mike’s ears was Ginny’s bright, familiar laugh. 

The second was Gabe and Marcus hitting the water, their war cries cut off until they resurfaced and the battle resumed.

Later, after he’d let each of the twins nearly drown him and gotten Ginny back fewer times than her mischievous smirk warranted, Mike was cleaning himself up in the pool house bathroom. His drenched shirt already lay discarded in the corner.

He’d closed the door, but wasn’t entirely surprised when it opened to admit another person.

“Should you be here?” he asked, making eye contact through the mirror.

Ginny shrugged. “Had to make sure our host hadn’t fallen and couldn’t get up.”

“I’ll have you know I’ve got no problems getting up.”

She scrunched her nose at the crude joke, but didn’t move from where she’d pressed her back to the closed door. 

“You gonna gloat some more?”

“I did tell you that I’m a water fight master.”

“You’re a menace,” he muttered.

She shrugged again and finally stepped away from the door, prowling towards him until she was standing beside him at the counter. That same taunting grin played across her lips

Mike didn’t turn to look at her, not with her warmth radiating into him. She was too tempting.

“You had to drag the kids into it?” he demanded. “You couldn’t just get me on your own?”

“I had to get you away from the grill! I wasn’t about to ruin the food,” she pointed out, like it should’ve been obvious.

He rolled his eyes. God forbid anything come between Ginny Baker and her stomach.

“C’mon,” she wheedled, sidling up to him. With her mile long legs on display, skin still glistening from the water, Mike could already feel himself thawing. It was a verified melt when she leaned up, her sweet curves pressed to his side, and murmured, “I bet I can make it up to you.”

“Plan on it,” he returned, pivoting and finally giving her the kiss he’d been aching for since she first showed up. In spite of the fact that he was aching for _more_ than a kiss, he pulled away. “Unless you want someone else to follow you in here and catch us, it’s time for you to go reassure our teammates that old man Lawson is alive.”

She pouted, just a little, and because Mike knew her so well, he could see Ginny consider the possibility of _letting_ someone stumble in on them. Letting the cat out of the bag. But as soon as the thought was there, it was gone, too, and she was out the door, one last kiss lingering on his lips. 

Well, one last kiss until he’d managed to kick everyone else out of his house. 

Ginny had some making up to do, after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, initially, I wanted to title this "sun's out, guns out," but I've definitely already written a fic with that title, even if it was for a different ship. Also, I come from a family where water fights are serious business, so I hope that this was fluffy enough! (What's that you say? There are no family's where water fights are serious business? Tell that to my cousin Lisa who has terrorized every child in our extended family for decades.)
> 
> Thanks so much to @ginnnybakerlawson for sending in letters for the #PickUpPitch campaign! 
> 
> If you want me to write something for your own prompt, post a picture of your letter/postcard to Hulu/Netflix asking them to #PickUpPitch and tag me on [tumblr](http://www.megaphonemonday.tumblr.com)/[twitter](https://twitter.com/megaphonemonday)


	10. for @dortheyjac: too early to argue wardrobe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @dortheyjac asked for: something with Ginny wearing one of Mike's flannels and little else or something in that spirit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: Evelyn Sanders demands answers, future!fic, girl talk

If the first ring of her doorbell hadn’t woken Ginny up, the next seven would’ve done the trick. 

Blearily, she took in the time. 8:00 AM. She cursed. For once, Ginny didn’t have winter ball or rehab or really _anything_  disturbing her off-season mornings. 

Except, of course, for whoever was at her door. 

Unwilling to give her neighbor another show—Ginny wouldn’t grab her mail in a sports bra and running shorts again—she snagged something off the top of her clean laundry pile and shrugged into it. If she were less groggy, she might've noticed that it didn’t smell like her detergent and fell too far down her legs, but all Ginny really noticed was how inviting her bed looked. 

Too bad the doorbell was still ringing.

Time to see who’d disrupted her quiet morning. 

Evelyn. She should’ve known. At least she came bearing caffeine.

Before Ginny could do much more than stand aside to let her friend into the condo, Evelyn halted in her tracks, staring with mounting glee. Even when Ginny shooed her into the living room, the other woman refused to let her out of her sights.

A manic grin spread over her friend’s face. She practically bounced in place, eyes wide. Ginny had to take coffees away before they ended up sacrificed to Evelyn’s excitement.

Not that Ginny knew what was so exciting. 

Collapsing on the couch, she asked, “How’s it goin’, Ev?”

Evelyn’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. Like she thought Ginny was hiding something. 

She wasn’t awake enough to hide anything.

“Maybe I should ask you that,” Evelyn returned, sinking into an armchair.

Ginny took a sip of her coffee. Maybe some caffeine would kickstart her brain, help her figure out what was going on. 

“You woke me up,” she finally answered.

“Late night?”

“I guess. Mike came over and we ended up watching a movie.”

Evelyn’s grin was back in full force, but Ginny still had no idea _why_. “A little Netflix and chill, huh?”

She frowned, suspicion settling in. “No? It was a DVD.”

It was Ev’s turn to frown. “You know exactly what I mean, Ginny.”

“Uh, no. I don’t,” Ginny chuckled, trying to play it off.

“Then tell me why you’re wearing Mike’s shirt.”

Ginny looked down and several things became clear. 

1.) She was, in fact, wearing one of Mike Lawson’s flannels. That explained the smell, so different from her regular laundry detergent. Then again, if Ginny’s laundry usually smelled so intoxicating, she’d never get anything done.

2.) He must have forgotten it here and it somehow ended up on her pile of laundry after she’d tidied up. Which almost explained how she’d come to put it on this morning.

3.) Evelyn definitely thought there was a far more interesting explanation at play. Which, (unfortunately) there wasn’t.

“Ev—”

“Tell me how it happened! You're watching a movie and start drifting closer. He puts his arm around you. You lean against his chest. Or was it less gradual? Steamy scene, eye contact, and bam! you’re making out!”

“Oh my god. No,” Ginny groaned. “Nothing happened.”

“What.”

“Nothing happened,” she repeated, deliberate enough to drive the point home. “We watched a movie, he forgot his shirt, and I put it on before I opened the door so I wouldn’t give the creep across the street another eyeful.”

Evelyn remained unconvinced. 

“No. Nuh uh. You cannot tell me that’s what happened.”

“What do you think? That I left Mike upstairs after a night of...”

Evelyn didn’t need her to finish. “Yes! I mean, you answer the door wearing Mike’s shirt, no pants on—”

“They’re shorts!”

“—and expect me to believe nothing happened—”

Ginny sputtered.

“—and nothing _has been_  happening? All this time?”

“What was supposed to be happening, Ev?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Ginny.”

Ginny sighed. It was so much easier to pretend Evelyn was just reading too much into things, though. It was easier to pretend that only Evelyn wanted something to happen between Ginny and Mike. 

It wasn’t true, but that was the point of pretending. 

“We’re still teammates,” she tried.

“Sure. All your teammates come watch movies with you and forget their clothes after. Clothes that you just put on. No big deal.”

“You’re making this sound more complex than it is.”

“There’s nothing complex about it. Mike’s undressing at your house. How’d he take it off? Was it all slow and sexy? Did he come up with an excuse? ‘Wow, it’s really hot in here. Mind if I get more comfortable?’“ she imitated, dropping her voice low and gruff, but still miles off from Mike’s natural rumble.

Ginny had to laugh. “I don’t know, Ev. He just took it off and forgot it. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” Evelyn asked, finally deflating.

“Yep.”

Together, they sighed, both a little disappointed. The coffee helped rally them, though, and they spent an easy hour trading news and gossip and general chatter. 

When Evelyn eventually rose to go, waving Ginny off and insisting she could see herself out, she did pause, considering. 

“I know that you and Mike are teammates,” she said, gentler than Ginny’d come to expect, “but you won’t be forever. Maybe it’s time to start thinking about what comes after.”

There wasn’t much Ginny could say to that, not without showing her hand. She nodded and Ev turned to go. 

Just in time for the doorbell to ring again. 

Evelyn answered and Ginny listened hard to the tones floating down the hall, trying to decide if she needed to go see who it was. 

She was still making up her mind when a familiar voice echoed through the condo, making her bolt upright.

Mike.

“Baker, have you seen my shirt? I think I left it...” he trailed off as he came face to face with Ginny. In his shirt. He froze, his jaw going a little slack.

Ginny froze, too, embarrassed and intrigued by the way Mike’s gaze raked over her.

“Well,” Evelyn grinned, having followed Mike back and feeling like Christmas had come early, “I’ll just be going, then.”

Neither acknowledged her, though with the way they stared at each other, clearly itching to throw codes and team dynamics out the window, Evelyn didn’t even mind. Tomorrow’s girl talk would more than make up for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm within 5% of the word limit, which I call good enough. Also, you try wrangling Evelyn Sanders into being less wordy.
> 
> Thanks so much to @dorthey jac for sending a letter to Hulu ahead of the ATX festival! 
> 
> If you want me to write something for your own prompt, post a picture of your letter/postcard to Hulu/Netflix asking them to #PickUpPitch and tag me on [tumblr](http://www.megaphonemonday.tumblr.com)/[twitter](https://twitter.com/megaphonemonday)


	11. for @alwayskels: captain's choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @alwayskels asked for: Mike and Ginny are captains of two opposing teams for a charity baseball game. Ginny has LeBron James and Serena Williams on her team. Mike has Steph Curry and Leo DiCaprio on his team. Feel free to add other celebs on their teams too!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: Mike and Ginny are competitive (surprising no one), future!fic

The rules are simple. Build the best celebrity softball team ever and lead that team to victory in a (not-so-)friendly game benefiting the Padres Community Fund. He has six weeks.

It’s the kind of thing that Mike Lawson was made for. 

Doesn’t matter who they find to go up against him, Mike's been around the block. He’s not losing this game.

That confidence doesn’t wane when he finds out Ginny will captain the other team. Not even a little.

If he steps up his recruiting efforts after learning that she’s already gotten LeBron James _and_  Serena Williams to commit, that’s entirely his business. 

If he also starts trash talking her other choices at every opportunity, that’s just good strategy.

Ginny’s not quite pouting as he leans against the door of her dressing room, teasing her about her chances of getting either of the Obamas on board. She slumps in her chair, frowning up at him, and Mike’s not about to let how cute she looks get him to go easy on her.

“You pick your co-captain yet?” he asks, changing the subject. They’ve been informed they need some more Padres involved, hence the sudden need for co-captains just a month out.

“I’m taking Livan,” she announces, failing to conceal her smug little smirk.

“Fine,” he counters, crossing his arms over his chest, “then I call Blip.”

She shrugs like it doesn’t bother her, but Mike knows that little pucker in her forehead too well to think she isn’t annoyed.

“Not a pitcher?”

“It’s slowpitch softball,” he counters. “I could put a drunk monkey on the mound and it’d be fine.”

Ginny doesn’t argue. About that, at least. “Are you really not going to tell me who else you’re recruiting?”

“Not a chance, Baker.”

“I told you,” she points out, with just the hint of a whine.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “That’s your own fault. You can wait until next week when they announce the lineup to find out with everyone else.”

 

* * *

 

When Ginny’s familiar, horsey laugh rings through the clubhouse a week later, Mike automatically smiles and starts a silent count.

He doesn’t even make it to fifteen before she’s at his shoulder, waving her phone in his face. 

“ _This_  is your lineup?” she demands, both suspicion and delight written all over her face.

Mike glances over the list: Steph Curry, Terry Crews, Abby Wambach, Jon Hamm, Geena Davis—no mix ups so far. He’d definitely gone after athletic ability over any other considerations. 

(Even if it had been suggested that picking a bunch of good looking actors and celebrities might be enough to fluster Ginny into distraction. Had it been just about anyone else, Mike could’ve seen the merits in that plan, but Ginny isn’t just anyone.)

“You seem surprised.”

“That it’s not all Playboy Bunnies and Victoria’s Secret models? Just a little.”

“Well, they were all busy,” he jokes, though there’s part of him that wants to frown. Shouldn’t she know by now that Playboy Bunny or not, there’s only one woman he’s interested in?

“Of course they were,” Ginny snorts before her lips tug up. “I did see you managed to get Leo, though.”

“I told you,” he grins. “He’s got beautiful eyes.”

“Well, I’ll make sure to leave you two some private time after the game.”

“Thoughtful of you,” Mike drawls. He fiddles with a roll of tape before asking, “Should I do the same for you and Captain America? Or are you more of a Captain Kirk kinda girl? You’ve got both of ‘em on your team.”

Ginny’s head tilts to the side and she studies him for a long moment, like she’s trying to read his thoughts. Maybe she succeeds because she smiles in satisfaction and turns to go. Before she steps away, though, she leans down into Mike’s ear and murmurs, “I think I’ve got a different captain in mind.” Then, she’s gone, leaving Mike in stunned silence.

 

* * *

 

“You wanna make this interesting?”

Ginny glances at him sidelong. She doesn’t try to make up an excuse to leave, which is an improvement on where they’ve been the past week.  Whatever boldness had driven Ginny to make that confession had gone into hiding. 

Which is too bad. Mike loves when Ginny is bold. 

(He loves her most other times, too, but that’s semantics.)

There’s nowhere to go now, not with this fundraiser game upon them and a ragtag team of celebrities (if anyone can call a team that boasts more Olympic medals than some countries ragtag) looking to her for guidance.

“More interesting than raising thousands of dollars for charity?” she returns, raising a brow.

“Way more.”

She laughs and, God, it’s a good sound to hear. “All right, Lawson,” Ginny agrees, still chuckling. “Lay it on me.”

“Loser buys dinner for the winner and the captain of their choice.” 

Mike holds his breath and waits for her response. What’s the worst that can happen? Well, he could end up paying for Ginny’s date with Captain Kirk and they end up falling in love and getting married, but he doesn’t think he’s being cocky in thinking that’s not in the cards.

Ginny turns to stare at him, brow furrowed beneath the brim of her cap, bottom lip wedged between her teeth. Mike’s starting to believe that she _can_ read minds—or maybe she’s just good at reading _him_ —because she begins to nod, a grin spreading across her face. 

“Any captain I want?”

Mike rolls his eyes. “You know I could win, too, right?”

“And I’d be more than happy to pay for your date with Chris Evans, Lawson.”

God help him. 

“Stick to your day job, Baker. There’re enough bad comedians in the world.”

She shoves him at that, laughing until the umpire calls, “Captains for the coin toss!”

“I guess that’s us, huh?” she asks, bumping his arm with her shoulder. 

“Yeah it is,” Mike replies, grinning. 

Much as he loves winning, wants to win, maybe in this case, losing wouldn’t be so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As someone who played years of slowpitch softball, I am allowed to bad mouth it. I love it, but it is not an athlete's sport.
> 
> Everyone should go thank Kelci for doing so much for the #RenewPitch and #PickUpPitch campaigns! She's an absolute star!
> 
> If you want me to write something for your own prompt, post a picture of your letter/postcard to Hulu/Netflix asking them to #PickUpPitch and tag me on [tumblr](http://www.megaphonemonday.tumblr.com)/[twitter](https://twitter.com/megaphonemonday)


	12. for Victura: suffering is optional

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victura asked for: Maybe something set after season 1 where Mike and Ginny are both going to PT for their respective injuries and help each other and bond over that time? Angst, humor, fluff all welcome!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: post-Season 1, kind of hurt/comfort, Ginny is being angsty
> 
> chapter title: M. Kathleen Casey quote, "Pain is inevitable. _Suffering is optional._ "

Ginny frowned down at her feet. Scott, her physical therapist, had gone to find a resistance band, but had told her in no uncertain terms that if she even thought of picking up a free weight, he’d have her head. 

She hadn’t bothered telling him that even the smallest dumbbell might be beyond her. He wouldn’t believe her; her reputation as a workaholic wasn’t doing her many favors. 

But the fact of the matter was that after a battery of tests—from an MRI to sonograms to x-rays—Ginny’s elbow still hurt. After three days of rest, barely allowed to even pick up her phone, it still hurt. 

And she hadn’t told anyone.

This was the most serious injury she’d ever had, and she was worried—perhaps irrationally—that letting anyone know would make it even worse. More of a gamble for sure; who knew how she’d bounce back. 

So, she’d turned down the medication her doctor offered, lying that the pain was manageable.

(It wasn’t. Kept from sleep for four nights, Ginny was edgy and irritable. And, oh yeah, in a lot of pain.) 

Since that reply seemed to make everyone—ownership and Al and Oscar—pretty happy, there was no way Ginny was backpedaling now. Which left her scared and in pain and terrifyingly alone. 

For once in her life, Ginny wasn’t sure she could endure.

“Y’know, if you stare any harder, you’re gonna set your shoes on fire.”

Ginny jolted from her gloomy thoughts.

Mike stood in the doorway, dressed for his ice bath—that is, _not_ dressed. At all. A Padres towel hung around his hips, but that was it. If she didn’t count his backwards cap, and she didn’t. After all, it didn’t impede her view of his broad chest or burly arms. 

She looked back down rather than get caught. “How’d the game go?”

"Pretty good. Hit another homer. Rest of the team played okay, too.” Ginny let a smile flicker to life, though it faded as soon as Mike continued, “Can’t tell you how many get well soon signs I saw today. Even if there’s a suspicious lack of presents in here.”

Grimacing, Ginny pushed to her feet. She’d go looking for Scott if it meant avoiding reminders of how she’d let everyone down.

There’d been plenty of presents, though Ginny hadn’t kept a single one of them. Why would she want gifts for _failing_ to do something? 

Mike followed her, rambling on. “I mean, the last time I went on the DL, it wasn’t even 12 hours before this place was filled to bursting with flowers and candy and even this massive teddy bear wearing my jersey. Still don’t know where they found that.”

In spite of herself, Ginny snorted. “Tell me there’re pictures of you with it.”

He chose that moment to shut his trap. 

“I’ll just ask Al,” she said, flapping her hand dismissively. If she’d let herself look at Mike head on, she might have noticed that he’d shifted closer. She hadn’t so she didn’t. Not until her knuckles brushed against the bare skin of his pecs. 

Just a graze and for just a breath, but Ginny was suddenly all too aware of the quickening thump of her heart and the sheer heat radiating off Mike.

She sneaked a peek. If her captain was affected, he wasn’t showing it. Instead, he rolled his eyes, shaking his head. 

“Al might know all, but if you think anyone is stupid enough to let him get his hands on photographic evidence, they must’ve given you the good pain pills.”

It was Ginny’s turn to roll her eyes. “I’m not on _any_ pain pills,” she retorted, turning into the empty trainer’s room.

“What?” he frowned. “Why not?”

She shrugged, more concerned with where Scott had gone than answering. He couldn’t’ve forgotten about her, could he?

“Rookie, you should be managing the pain—”

“I’m not in pain,” she lied, hoisting herself up onto one of the therapy tables. Scott would probably circle back here at some point. He’d find her eventually. 

Mike leaned against the other table, the towel around his waist inching up his thighs. Not that Ginny noticed. She had her gaze resolutely fixed above his shoulders.

“Of course you’re in pain. You’ve got a tear in your brachioradialis—which you’re lucky doesn’t need surgery—”

“I’m fine.”

Ginny didn’t question how Mike knew the exact extent of her injury. There’d been a press conference; _everyone_ knew the extent of her injury. She wasn’t going to let him think that she needed to be coddled, though.

“You’re not fine. You’re injured.”

“And I’ll get better.”

“Of course you’ll get better!” he exclaimed and Ginny knew it wasn’t his exasperation that made the backs of her eyes prickle and her throat close up. No, that was the immediacy of his agreement. His utter belief that she would recover and make it back to the mound. Mike, oblivious, continued, “And if you want to get better faster, you’ll take the goddamn pain meds!”

She sniffed, finally cradling her aching elbow close to her stomach, supporting it with her left hand. Mike followed the movement. While his jaw clenched, he didn’t comment. 

Uncertainty coating every word, she asked, “How do you know?”

“Baker,” Mike said, firm enough that Ginny didn’t have much choice other than to look at him. The expression on his face was serious, but assured. All at once, Ginny breathed easier. “I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve been injured and desperate to make it back into the game. Every time, though, I’ve managed it. You will, too. Do you trust me?”

She didn’t even need to think before she nodded, one dip of her chin. 

It was enough. Mike nodded back, a smile tucked into the corner of his mouth.

“Stick with me, rook,” he said, his dark eyes steady and full of determination. “We’ll get you back in the game.”

He didn’t have any authority to make her that promise. 

It didn’t matter, though.

Ginny believed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to believe that Mike is Ginny's support system post-injury. If I believe it hard enough, maybe Hulu will make my dreams come true and give me canonical confirmation when they #PickUpPitch! (I also kind of need to believe in the power of positive thinking at this point.)
> 
> Anyway, thanks a ton to Victura for sending in mail for the #PickUpPitch campaign! 
> 
> If you want me to write something for your own prompt, post a picture of your letter/postcard to Hulu/Netflix asking them to #PickUpPitch and tag me on [tumblr](http://www.megaphonemonday.tumblr.com)/[twitter](https://twitter.com/megaphonemonday)


	13. for @alwayskels: captain's choice part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @alwayskels asked for: A continuation of Captain's Choice the last inning of the game and a bit of the dinner afterward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: cursing/language, celebrity softball, Mike has his reasons

 

 

“Breathe, _mami._ It’s just a silly game. _”_

Ginny shrugs off Livan’s arm, though she manages to stop pacing the length of the makeshift dugout. To him it’s just a silly game. To her team, too, for all they seem eager to win. For Ginny, though, there’s a lot riding on this silly game.

Namely: dinner—what might even be a _date_ —with Mike Lawson.  

And it’s hers for the taking.

If her team can get its shit together, that is.

Maybe that’s harsh. They’ve definitely put up a good fight for all they’re basically Ralph Macchio compared to Mike’s Cobra Kais. Seriously. It’s like when Mike heard “celebrity,” his brain went, “retired pro athletes.” Maybe Ginny shouldn’t have let Amelia have such a say in her roster... 

LeBron James and Serena Williams can only carry the non-athletes so far.

Miraculously, though, they’re only down one run. But it's the bottom of the ninth, there're already two outs, and their only runner is still on first. 

Ginny comforts herself that at least she’s on deck. She’ll be the one to end this.

Even with Mike out on the mound looking mighty pleased with himself. He’s pitched the whole game and has made a comment every time Ginny’s come up to bat.

“I’m starting to think they’re paying you way too much, Baker,” he’d taunted. “This is easy.”

“Says the glorified backstop,” she’d thrown back, just before ripping into his next pitch, sending the ball sailing into a gap in left field. 

Of course, it doesn’t stop there. Their teams take it in stride, even if they are a little more confused than amused by it. Still, she can only imagine what he’ll say next. 

When Mike walks Kate McKinnon in four pitches, Ginny knows she’s about to find out. 

Sauntering up to the plate, she shouts, “Not so easy, is it, Lawson?”

Even with the shorter distance between the rubber and the plate, Ginny thinks that with the full sixty feet, she wouldn’t miss his eye roll. “Just focus on hitting it out of the infield, Baker. This might be your only chance all season.”

She bites back something about a drunk monkey warming up in the bullpen because Mike’s arm swings back and the ball is arcing towards her.

Ginny knows she should wait, shouldn’t swing at the first pitch, but there’s so much _time_. She can see the way the ball is flying, how it’ll sail through the strike zone at just the right height for her to swing through, send it sailing over the outfielders’ heads. It’ll be an RBI for sure, maybe two. 

And that’s all she needs.

So, Ginny does what she shouldn’t. Because damn it. She _really_  wants to win.

The bat connects satisfyingly with the ball and Ginny knows she’s timed it just right because rather than pushing or pulling towards the corners, her hit sails right back up the middle. 

Right at Mike’s head, in fact. 

With a lot more heat than Ginny usually generates. 

Almost in slow motion, Ginny watches him drop to the ground to get out of the way, his glove coming up to protect his face. Then, she focuses on making it to first before either of Mike’s middle infielders pick up the ball and throw her out. 

Neither of them move, though. There isn’t anything to pick up.

Where’d it go?

Ginny’s still searching when Mike rises from the dirt, a cocky smirk covering his face. She can’t figure out _why_  until he turns towards her and lifts his glove, showing off the neon yellow softball nestled inside. 

Over the umpire calling the game and the good-natured groans of her team, he saunters over, still grinning. Ginny just shakes her head at him, disbelieving. 

“Now, why can’t you pull off that kinda grab when you’re out at first?” she demands, annoyed that she’s lost, but willing to admit that Mike just made an amazing snag.

“Gotta keep you on your toes,” he grins, stopping not even a foot away from her. It’s closer than he usually stands and Ginny has to tip her head back to look him in the eyes. “Especially when you’re doing your best to knock me down.”

"Sorry about that,” she says, half sincere. “Looks like you earned that dinner, though.”

“I did, didn’t I?”

She watches him nod in consideration. It’s not that she’s expectant, except, well, she is. Mike was the one to put this bet in motion, and he’d made it pretty clear what he wanted if he won.

Ginny thought he had, at least. 

Because when he turns and shouts across the field, “Hey, Evans! You wanna do dinner? Baker’s paying!” and strides away, she couldn’t be more confused. 

_What the hell? Did that really just happen?_

 

* * *

 

Hours later, Ginny still hasn’t wrapped her head around it. 

Not for lack of trying, of course. 

She hadn’t read into Mike’s wager, had she? He’d been talking about _her_  not Captain America before the game, she’s sure of it. Just because she made a joke—

Her overthinking is interrupted by her doorbell. God, she doesn’t want to talk to anyone, but when the ringing doesn’t stop, she grumpily goes to see who it is. 

The answer doesn’t do much to improve her mood.

Grudgingly, Ginny opens up and gives her team captain an unimpressed up and down. Arms behind his back, his flannel stretches across his chest. Broad as he is, she hopes he felt puny next to Chris Evans’ superhero stature. 

“What do you want?” 

Mike takes her in, arms crossed defensively over her chest and lips pursed, before he nods over her shoulder. 

“You gonna invite me in or are we gonna do this out here?”

“Depends on what ‘this’ is,” she replies, wary.

Mike rolls his eyes, which Ginny doesn’t feel is necessarily fair. Still, he reveals what he’s been hiding behind his back: a bag of takeout from Ginny’s favorite Chinese place. 

“This,” he says, shaking the bag for emphasis, “is dinner.”

“Dinner?” Without any input from Ginny herself, her arms unfold. She can feel herself softening. Especially at the sight of Mike’s slightly shy grin. Still, she can’t let him off the hook that easily. “Didn’t you already have dinner?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “As charming a guy as Chris Evans is, he and I both knew there was only one person I wanted to spend the evening with.”

“You took my money, though,” she points out, in spite of how much she likes the idea of Mike being so obvious about her that even Captain America could see it. It makes her less uncertain.

Even if it doesn’t explain why he hadn’t just picked her in the first place. 

“Well, yeah. It wasn’t like I was gonna pass up a chance at a beer with Captain America.” His twinkling eyes just get to her. They always have. “Besides, you nearly took off my head today, I had to pay you back somehow.”

Ginny leans against the door, laughing. “I told you I was sorry!”

The rolling of Mike’s eyes this time is more fond than anything else and Ginny finally melts. She steps away to let him in. 

Mike doesn’t bother to go to the dining room. He’s been over too often to think that it’s anything other than extra storage for all the gear Nike sends over. Instead, he makes his way to the living room while Ginny goes to the kitchen for plates and utensils and more beer. By the time she gets back, he’s already cued up a movie on her TV—probably another from the long list he’s appalled she hasn’t seen yet—and spread the cartons out on the coffee table. 

They load up their plates and settle in to watch the movie. It’s mostly easy, something they’ve done together hundreds of times before. If Ginny sits slightly further from Mike than she usually would, though, that’s her business. 

Well, it is until Mike opens his mouth.

“Ginny,” he sighs, and that’s when she knows this is for real. Mike saves her name for only the most important occasions. He eyes the space between them, a frown furrowing his brow. “I'm sorry I didn’t pick you. It wasn’t that you weren’t my first choice, but...”

“But...?” she prods when Mike trails off.

“But,” he picks up, scrubbing a hand over his chin, “call me old-fashioned, but I wasn’t about to let you pay for our first date.”

She pauses in her chewing. “Is that what this is? A date?” 

If this is a date, then Ginny has to wonder what every other time Mike showing up with food had been. She’d like to think she would’ve noticed her first date with Mike Lawson was happening.

“Isn’t it?” he asks. “I mean, we’ve got dinner and a movie. Just because we’re in your apartment—”

“It is.” Mike’s eyebrows raise and Ginny feels the need to repeat herself. “It is a date.”

The smile that spreads across Mike’s face is only outshone by the one on Ginny’s. His eyes flicker from her mouth to her eyes, and Ginny can see him consider whether or not he should kiss her now or wait.

She, personally, hopes for the first. 

Unfortunately, he settles back into the couch cushions, refocusing on his food. 

Ginny tries to rein in her disappointment, but the smirking sidelong look he sends her tells her she doesn’t do a good enough job. She wrinkles her nose at him in response and he just laughs. 

It’s a warm, golden sound, and she can’t even bring herself to mind it’s at her expense. 

Anyway, it’s not like Mike’s the only one who decides when they kiss. 

So, she sets her half-finished plate on the table, relieves Mike of his, takes his face between her palms, and presses her mouth against his. 

He’s still laughing when their lips connect, but when Mike’s hands settle heavily on her waist, dragging her into his lap, Ginny’s sure that’ll change soon enough. 

She’d even be willing to bet on it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is way more than 1K words, but I had a feeling if I cut it off, I'd've been accused of being cruel, so enjoy this longer 
> 
> Kelci is the true MVP of this game. Thank you so much for going so hard and so long for this show!!
> 
> If you want me to write something for your own prompt, post a picture of your letter/postcard to Hulu/Netflix asking them to #PickUpPitch and tag me on [tumblr](http://www.megaphonemonday.tumblr.com)/[twitter](https://twitter.com/megaphonemonday)


	14. for @monkshoodr: (love is) in the eye of the cameraman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @monkshoodr asked for: A Rob the camera guy fic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: cursing/language, outside POV: Rob the Camera Guy, this might make more sense if you read [this thread](http://archiveofourown.org/comments/94994120), no guarantees though

“Rob,” came the crackling voice of his producer Max over the headset, disapproval dripping off the short syllable.

He knew what was coming, and wasn’t eager to hear it. Still, he had to reply. That was his boss. 

“Yeah?” he asked, checking the frame of his shot through the viewfinder. 

Perfect. Just what he wanted.

“You know there’s a game on, yeah?” 

“Yep.”

“Then will you quit it with the B-roll of Baker and Lawson? We’ve got enough to last us through next century.”

Rob frowned and wondered how someone who’d gone to journalism school and therefore learned how to sniff out a story could be so blind to what was right in front of him. 

(What was right in front of him was the smoldering chemistry between Mike Lawson and Ginny Baker.)

"Listen,” he began, absently refocusing his lens to catch the way Ginny’s smile spread at something Lawson muttered beside her. She nudged him with her shoulder and he rolled his eyes, but Rob caught the way the Padres captain fought against a smile of his own. 

“No, you listen!” Max hissed over the headset. “There are only so many excuses I can give the network for not having good footage from first base. And none of those excuses involve your _theories_.”

Light snickering came over the connection, probably from one of the other camera operators who thought that he was full of it.

But they didn’t have the same vantage point that he did.

They hadn’t seen the way Ginny Baker went from anxious and uncertain to assured and unflappable, both on the field and in the dugout. They hadn’t watched her win over her teammates while racking up wins that first season. 

The certainly hadn’t witnessed her captain’s grudging acceptance of her presence shift and evolve into respect, friendship and even, sometimes, awe.

Which meant they didn’t have front row tickets to the Baker and Lawson Show the past season and a half. They hadn’t seen practically every hip check and cracked joke, every quiet moment between innings, every lingering look and gleeful celebration after a win. 

After all that, Rob knew that Baker and Lawson were more than _just_ teammates, even if they didn’t quite know what else they were, either. His teenage daughter agreed with him and she didn’t agree with him about _anything_.

Unfortunately, the majority of his coworkers did not. To them, Ginny Baker was a pretty girl who’d overcome a lot, and would certainly go down in history, but she wasn’t quite real. Which was all the better for TV.  

Rob wasn’t about to risk his job just to prove them wrong. Even if it would feel really good and they’d all owe him beers from now into eternity.

So, he sighed and turned his camera back to the field, ignoring the way Lawson’s whole leg was pressed against Baker’s and had been for the past ten minutes.

  

* * *

 

As had become tradition every time Max blew his lid at Rob for getting distracted during a game, he bought the camera crew a couple rounds of drinks afterward. It wasn’t like he didn’t _know_  he was supposed to be filming the game, but after years of shooting baseball, he’d seen it all. Diving catches, stand up homers, pitcher’s duels. It was all impressive and thrilling and Rob knew there were people who’d kill for a job like his, but none of it was _new_.

But whatever was going on between Baker and Lawson? That was some never-before-seen shit, right there.

He’d mostly given up on convincing any of his coworkers, though his wallet was taking quite the hit from all these post-game drinks.

Maybe it’d help to stop following the team to whatever swanky new bar they’d decided to overrun for the night. Apparently, free drinks for the hometown heroes only applied to the people who’d actually been on the field. Never mind the guys who made sure the people at home had something to watch.

He dropped off the last round for the few stragglers remaining at the end of the night, intending to head home after hitting the bathroom. A night of drinking’ll do that to a guy.

Before he could hit the head, though, Rob had to find his way there. Wandering the back hallways, thinking that this wouldn’t happen in a normal bar, he was distracted from his goal. 

At the sight in front of him, he froze for just a second before practically diving back around the corner he’d just turned.

Holy fucking shit.

Carefully, not wanting to catch their attention and feeling more like a creep than he ever had behind his camera during a game, Rob chanced a peek around the corner.

Pressed between the wall and Mike Lawson’s broad chest, Ginny Baker grinned teasingly up at her rock. 

Or was he the hard place? 

Her arms draped over his shoulders, one hand idly playing with the hair at the base of his neck. She waggled her eyebrows at Mike when he leaned into the touch, a soft groan echoing down the hallway.

“You still think we should stay, Lawson?” Ginny teased, teeth flashing as her grin widened. 

“You don’t play fair, rookie,” he returned, somehow crowding further into her space.

“Off the field I don’t. What’s the point? You want me to win, too.”

“You’ve got me there,” Mike replied.

In spite of his years of experience watching the man, Rob had never seen the Padres captain look so happy. 

Judging by the way he leaned down and laid a kiss against Ginny Baker’s waiting mouth, Rob figured Lawson had every reason to be pretty fucking ecstatic.

Withdrawing from the corner and turning back the way he came, Rob couldn’t help his little fist pump of celebration.

He was right, god damn it! This was what vindication felt like. 

Before victory could really settle, a sobering thought weaseled its way in.

He might be right, but who the hell was going to believe him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I still owe Rachel like _a ton_ of fic, but this can be a down payment, right? And, of course a huge thank you for sending some (international!!) mail for the #PickUpPitch campaign!
> 
> For those of you who haven't been following along on tumblr, this week is the last chance to really make a statement about how much we want this show back!! On Friday between noon and 6PM Central (find your local time [here](https://www.timeanddate.com/worldclock/fixedtime.html?msg=%23PickUpPitch+Twitter+Trend&iso=20170609T12&p1=24&ah=6)) head over to Twitter and tweet something containing **#PickUpPitch**. Set a reminder for yourself now, so you don't forget, and take the chance to draft a couple tweets so you have something ready to go!
> 
> I'll love you forever if you do!!


End file.
